


Building a Mystery

by spiffymittens



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Light Angst, M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffymittens/pseuds/spiffymittens
Summary: It's a three-hour drive to Marten Valley—more like three and a half, the way Patrick drives—which gives David plenty of time to wonder what Patrick's hiding from him.--Just before Rose Apothecary opens, a vendor trip and some unexpected wintry weather forces Patrick to confront his past.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 20
Kudos: 131
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Pre/early relationship David and Patrick get trapped in the cold somehow and must huddle for warmth. Any rating, just make it tender!
> 
> \--
> 
> Title comes from the incomparable Sarah McLachlan's _Building a Mystery_ , because Patrick Brewer really is a beautiful fucked up man.
> 
> _Oh you’re so beautiful  
>  With an edge and a charm  
> But so careful  
> When I’m in your arms  
> ‘Cause you’re working  
> Building a mystery  
> Holding on and holding it in  
> Yeah, you’re working  
> Building a mystery  
> And choosing so carefully ___

“Come on, David, does it really matter which afghan? Just pick one and let’s go.” Patrick was leaning against the door with his arms crossed, warm April sunshine spilling around him like the patron saint of hot forearms. A very impatient patron saint, at that moment.

David shot him an incredulous look. “Of course it matters! This one,” — he held up a beige bundle — “has a better-executed and more complicated stitch technique, which is important because we want Helen to understand that Rose Apothecary will have the highest standards.”

Patrick’s sparse eyebrows scrunched up. “So what’s the problem?” 

“Brenda’s yarn is terrible. Like, I can literally see little bits of straw in it, and I don’t want Helen to think that’s acceptable.”

“Ah. So the other one has better yarn?” Patrick’s mouth was pursed the way it always did when he was working through a problem, and it was unfair how much it looked like he was asking for a kiss.

David swallowed around a suddenly dry tongue and made himself look at the maroon afghan. “Um. Yes. Eileen’s afghan has much better yarn, but the cabling is uneven. And before you ask, no, I can’t ask Brenda to make afghans with Eileen’s yarn, because then they’ll both get offended and then we have no yarn and no afghans.”

Patrick grinned. “Oh, the tangled web we weave…”

“So help me, I will gag you with this skein if you complete that sentence,” David shook a ball of yarn threateningly before tossing it in the basket with all the other yarn and finished knitted goods they were bringing to show their potential vendor.

Instead of the shit-eating grin David expected, Patrick’s face went pink for a few seconds, and wasn’t _that_ interesting? But he recovered quickly and shrugged. “So bring them both. We have room in the car and it’s not like one of those five-minute pitch competitions; we’ll be at the farm… commune? place?... for a while.” Patrick pulled out his keys and tapped them against his leg. “Just tell her all that stuff you just told me about the stitches and straw and whatever, and then she’ll see why we want to sell her yarn and stuff.”

David closed his eyes and shook himself. Of course Patrick was right; why hadn’t David come to the obvious conclusion himself? Why was he so bent out of shape about this simple decision? He was lucky Patrick had signed on to help him, or this whole fucking store would probably have burned to the ground already, weeks before it even opened its doors to the public.

He felt a light touch at his arm and opened his eyes. Patrick was suddenly far, far too close, and his eyes were doing that… that _earnest_ thing. “Hey, you got this.” He squeezed David’s hand then picked up the basket and headed for the door. “And I got this, since I guess I’m the numbers guy _and_ the manual labor guy.”

“You know what, you don’t have to come today.” David scooped up his bag and trotted after Patrick, definitely not admiring his ass in those illegally tight jeans. “I don’t need this kind of harassment in my life.” 

Except he kind of loved Patrick’s harassment, the way he teased relentlessly but made David feel like he was in on the joke. So maybe he _was_ trolling David a little, but he also just volunteered to spend his entire day off with David instead of hiking or posing for Norman Rockwell paintings or pranking nuns or whatever the fuck he did on his off days. David was drunk on it, couldn’t get enough of it, even if it was dangerous territory.

“Oh, but David, where else can I learn about the fascinating world of yarn _and_ how to create and maintain vendor relationships?” David had worked himself halfway up to a good, indignant squawk when he caught sight of Patrick’s face and realized he was winding David up again, the fucking troll. And ugh, okay, maybe David could get enough of the teasing _a little._

“First of all, you _asked_ to come today. And second of all, you laugh, but yarn is actually fascinating.” David folded himself into the Jetta’s cramped passenger seat as Patrick set the basket in the trunk. David had planned on taking the Lincoln, but it was an even bigger gamble on a long trip than Patrick’s old clunker.

“More fascinating than baseball?” Patrick grinned as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Not possible.”

“Everything is more fascinating than baseball, but seriously! Did you know that wool generates heat when it gets wet? That’s why fishermen wear those big Aran sweaters.” And holy fuck, David could shut his mouth _any_ old time. He had dated minor nobility and underwear models, and here he was, trying to impress his hot business partner with _yarn trivia,_ Jesus Christ. 

He knew why, of course. Patrick was intimidatingly competent at everything (except choosing an outfit, because good Lord, did he even own shirts that weren’t blue?). So naturally David spent the three miles to the gas station rambling about adsorption and exothermic reactions until he realized Patrick probably did not give a single lonely fuck about any of it and shut his mouth abruptly.

Patrick threw a curious look his way, but let the moment pass without comment as he pulled into the gas station.

When was he going to stop trying so hard to impress Patrick? If Patrick was even into guys, there was no way he was into someone like David. No, if Patrick were queer, he’d probably go for a guy who owned multiple flannel shirts and, like, a tent. He’d watch baseball and have a thriving stock portfolio and all of Bon Iver’s albums on vinyl. He definitely wouldn’t be a high-maintenance diva with hairy hobbit hands who lived in a motel room with his sister and made Patrick chase the moths away from the door when they left the store after dark. 

So David needed to stop flirting with Patrick. He needed to stop imagining what it would feel like to kiss those sweet, full lips or feel those thick thighs wrapped around his waist.

And in the meantime, he really needed to get laid.

David sat up straighter and lifted his chin as Patrick went in to pay for the gas. He felt good about his new resolution, really settled. Then Patrick got back in the car with a package of Red Vines for David, and who was he kidding, David was so fucked.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

“So where are we headed, exactly?” 

“Oh, you’ve got like, an hour before you need to worry about directions.” David frowned at his Kwazy Kupcakes level and waved an absent hand. “When we get to North Bay, just watch for the signs for Highway 11. Then it’s just another little bit down the road to Marten Valley.”

If David hadn’t glanced at Patrick just then, he would have missed the tiny flinch.

“...Marten Valley?” Patrick said faintly. He pronounced the name carefully, as if it were a tricky spell.

“Yeah, you know it?”

Some unfathomable expression flashed across Patrick’s face. “I’ve been there.”

The last time David had felt the way Patrick looked was last week, when his mother had casually announced that _the_ Sebastien Raine would be coming to town. What put that expression on Patrick’s face?

“Is that okay?” David ventured after another frozen silence.

“Yep!” Patrick’s grimace bore only passing resemblance to the confident smile it was meant to resemble. 

“It just seems like maybe? It’s not your favorite place?” David faltered.

Patrick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s complicated,” he finally said. Then he twisted on the radio, effectively ending the conversation.

It was a three-hour drive to Marten Valley—more like three and a half, the way Patrick drove—which gave David plenty of time to wonder what Patrick was hiding from him.

David wasn’t the best judge of character (see: every romantic partner ever), but he was primed for suspicion (see: same), so he was a little embarrassed that it took him almost a month to wonder what someone like Patrick was doing in Schitt’s Creek.

Nearly everyone in Schitt’s Creek was a lifer or a weirdo—or both. But not Patrick. Patrick had an MBA and a closet full of blue button-downs and a smile that made David want to suck his dick and buy life insurance from him. He was handsome, competent, driven, distressingly normal… and he was living in Ray’s spare bedroom and throwing in with David on a harebrained idea for a store that might not even work out, like a man with nothing to lose.

Yet somehow, it hadn’t occurred to David until today that that was a little weird. He wanted to say he had been dizzy on those whiskey eyes and dazzling ass, but the truth was even more humiliating than garden-variety horniness: Patrick said Rose Apothecary was a good idea, and David wanted to believe him.

David had done a lot of stupid shit for people who said all the right things.

So… what, was Patrick on the run from the law? A bigamist? A murderer? Was Patrick Brewer even his real name? David had just assumed Ray had done a background check before hiring him, but what if he hadn’t? 

Or maybe it was less sinister. Maybe Patrick had an ex living in town and didn’t want to run into her. Him? Them? David darted another look to his left and tried to judge whether Patrick looked more like a scorned lover or a serial killer. The latter was an easier sell with the look on Patrick’s face, frankly. He hadn’t said a word for the past hour, his mouth a thin slash in the graying light. 

The closer they got to Marten Valley, the darker the sky got, as if the heavens were an extension of Patrick’s grim mood. Finally, just as Patrick turned onto Highway 11, the sky opened up and it began to pour, great curtains of near-freezing rain. Patrick slowed to a crawl, scowling.

“Um. Maybe we could pull off and get some coffee? Wait it out?” David’s voice sounded strange in his own ears after the long quiet. The stubborn set of Patrick’s jaw projected his answer before he opened his mouth. 

“It’s just a little weather, David.” Patrick actually rolled his eyes. “Let’s just push through it, ok? We don’t want to take so long out here that we have to spend the night.”

And okay, that was just about enough. “Hmm, yes, _we_ clearly don’t,” David said, his tone an icy match for Patrick’s.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

It was the first time David had heard Patrick’s voice raised in anger, and it made him want to vomit. But he was relieved, too, because anything was better than the frosty silence.

“It means I get it, you’ve got some kind of drama in Marten Valley, but you’re being kind of a huge dick about it.”

“ _Drama?_ ” Patrick retorted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, I don’t!” David snapped. “Because you won’t tell me!”  
  
“Frankly, it’s none of your fucking business,” Patrick enunciated coldly, and David felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. His eyes burned with hot tears that he would not— _would not_ —let fall. 

“Fine,” he croaked. “I just thought we were friends, that’s all.” Patrick’s face was all twisted up and red, his own eyes glazed with unshed tears, but he said nothing, which David supposed was as good an insult as any. As if to echo the dropping temperature between them, the sleet turned to fat white flakes over the next few minutes.

David leaned his aching forehead against the cold window, trying to think what to do next. They were only half an hour from Helen’s farm. They could be professionals and get through this trip, then when they got back to Schitt’s Creek, he’d talk to Ray about drawing up the paperwork to dissolve their partnership. 

David took deep, calming breaths and tried not to panic at the thought of all the taxes and permits and paperwork that he’d have to take over from Patrick, at least until he could hire someone. He shivered, thinking of how lonely it would be without Patrick in their—in _his_ —little store.

Then David shivered again and, God, he was freezing. He’d have brought a coat if he’d known it was going to turn into a winter fucking wonderland in April, of all things. 

He reached to turn up the heater at the same time as Patrick, yanking his hand back when their fingers brushed together. Patrick’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air next to the knob, then slowly touched it again and turned up the heat. The anger had bled from Patrick’s face at some point over the past few minutes, leaving something pinched and wan in its wake. 

And then, because the universe was not done symbolically screwing with them, the interior lights in the car began to flicker, then the hiss of the heater began to fade. Patrick had just enough momentum to steer the car to the side of the road before it glided to a majestic, final stop. 

Then they were sitting in muffled quiet, snow patting the windows around them. David might have appreciated how pretty it was if he weren’t so busy being sad and freaking out. 

“Oh my God,” David breathed. “What are we supposed to do now?” He felt the question down to his bones, but he supposed figuring out the car situation was a start.

Patrick stared straight ahead for a few seconds, then closed his eyes and slowly, slowly lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. He took several deep breaths, and David recognized them as the in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four breaths he had himself just been using. The last few breaths ghosted in front of him as the car grew colder.

Then Patrick sat back up and reached for his phone. He hesitated, glanced at David, then tapped the screen. 

“Brewer Towing, how can I help you?” said the gruff voice on the other end.

“Heyyyy, Andy!” Patrick was doing a fair impression of good cheer, but his right hand was clenched tight around the steering wheel. “How ya been?”

“Paddy? Paddy!” the man—Andy—boomed. “Where the hell have you been, cuz? I haven’t seen you in months! Hey, I heard about you and Rachel, I’m sorry, man. I know you all had it rough for a while, but I think you’re better off without her, you know what I mean—”

“Hey, I hate to cut you off, but I’m in kind of a tight spot,” said Patrick. His eyes flicked once, helplessly, to David. “I’m in the area with a—with a friend, and um, my car just died. Think you could give me a tow?”

“Ooh, a friend?” Andy chortled, his voice laden with meaning. Patrick winced and opened his mouth, seemingly weighing his response. But Andy kept right on going. “Yeah, I got you, I got you. Just text me your GPS location and I’ll see where the nearest truck is, okay?”

Patrick slumped in genuine relief and pulled the phone away briefly to tap in a text. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.” 

“Nope. Cousin code, remember?”

Patrick smiled faintly. “Yeah, I remember. Um. Got an ETA on that truck?”

“Yup, mm-hmm, hold on… Andy said, drawing out his words as he checked something. “There we go! It’s a pretty busy day for us, what with the snow and all, but Sheila’s truck can be there in about an hour. Can you sit tight until then?”

“Yeah, we’ll be here. Yup. Talk to you later. Bye.” Patrick hung up and stared at the black screen, as if it held the answers. 

David wanted to hug Patrick and tell him _“You got this,”_ but instead he tucked his hands into his armpits and shivered, burrowing down into his sweater. 

So there had been a Rachel, and Patrick had left her—not just left her, but fucking _ghosted_ her when things got tough. Just like every asshole David had ever dated.

“I’m gonna get those blankets and stuff out of the trunk. Keep us warm til the truck gets here,” said Patrick, eyes searching David’s face for something. _You’re better off without her._ David shrugged, teeth chattering. “Fine.” He pulled out his own phone. Might as well call Helen and tell her they’d be delayed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've seen _Happiest Season_ , then you'll spot the homage to DJL's exquisite John.

“I’m gonna get those blankets and stuff out of the trunk. Keep us warm til the truck gets here,” said Patrick, eyes searching David’s face for something. _You’re better off without her._ David shrugged, teeth chattering. “Fine.” He pulled out his own phone. Might as well call Helen and tell her they’d be delayed.

Patrick’s face crumpled, but he pushed out of the car, shutting the door quickly to cut off the icy blast. David expected to hear the trunk creak open next, but instead he heard Patrick’s voice. He peeked out the back window. Patrick was a phantasm in the swirling snow, his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder with his arms wrapped around himself. 

David turned around and dialed Helen, trying to give Patrick his privacy. By the time David hung up, Patrick was back with the basket of knitwear. He wordlessly passed David a hat, mittens, and one of the afghans, then jammed the other hat on his head and wrapped himself in the other afghan. 

Unfortunately, neither afghan was very large—they were more like lap blankets—and even with the hat and mittens, David was still freezing and his legs were uncovered from the knees down. Patrick remained turned away, burritoed into his own small blanket, silently watching the flakes fall. 

At first, David stayed strong. He could deal with being cold for a while to avoid Patrick. But after about ten minutes, they were both shivering miserably and David finally huffed and grabbed Patrick’s arm

“Oh my god, stop being such a drama queen and get over here. You have your own issues, fine, but I’m not getting frostbite because you don’t want to be friends.” While he was muttering, David tossed his legs over Patrick’s lap, then quickly layered both blankets together over top of them. Patrick instinctively burrowed into David, his icy nose digging into the soft spot just under David’s jaw. David threw his arms around Patrick and sighed as their combined body heat brought him somewhere near a comfortable temperature for the first time in half an hour.

He closed his eyes and imagined, for a moment, that Patrick was as special as David had first thought he was, that all that sweet flirting had somehow led to this moment, not a broken-down car on top of a broken-down… whatever they were.

“I never said I didn’t want to be your friend.” The words were buried in cashmere, so quiet that David thought he’d imagined them at first. 

David burrowed his face into Patrick’s shoulder and let himself enjoy Patrick’s spicy-clean aftershave and his solid, warm body. “Okay, well, you didn’t exactly speak up though, did you?” he murmured. “Whatever, you were mad. It happens. I’m over it.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Patrick said. He sounded like he had a lot of practice apologizing. “I’m not good at speaking up. When it matters. I’m sorry. I’m always your friend, if you want me. And I’m trying to be better about that. About communicating.”

Patrick’s words were so full of self-loathing that David sighed and let go of his one little fantasy that Rachel had been some kind of stalker that Patrick just had to run from. That left a short list of increasingly unattractive scenarios.

“Thank you. But that’s not really the issue right now. I’m just... not sure I can be friends with someone who ghosts his girlfriend like that, for one thing,” David said as gently as he could. He let his cheek scrape along the mild burn of Patrick’s stubble. “I’ve never really had a long-term relationship; probably never will, because, uh, hello, I’m a _lot._ But I’ve been ghosted by a lot of people; I’m basically a connoisseur at this point. And if it sucks so much when it’s just some Grindr random. I can’t imagine how bad it must feel when it’s someone who matters.” 

Patrick was at once clinging to him and shrinking from him in the most fascinating way. David took a centering breath and kept going. “And I don’t know anything about her, really, but you must have mattered a lot to her if you had to run away from home to get away from her. If your folks haven’t heard from you in months. That just sounds really fucking cruel, and I don’t know what to think.”

Patrick heaved a sigh from his toes. “She was my fiancee,” he said. “And I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.” 

“You didn’t hurt me,” David lied. “Not really. I’ve only known you for a few weeks. And I was just your business partner. You don’t owe me any explanations, or any—anything.” Patrick’s hands clenched convulsively on the back of David’s sweater at the past-tense _was._ “Rachel sounds like she was a lot more than that.”

“I don’t owe you that, but I want to tell you anyway, ok? I left her just before I moved to Schitt’s Creek.” Patrick shook his head slowly, dragging his nose back and forth across David’s collarbone. “I didn’t do it to be cruel, or because I was tired of her, or because she was _weighing me down,_ God, I’m sorry, Andy can be such a dick sometimes. I did it because I loved her. Because I was strong enough to leave right then, that morning, so she wouldn’t have to keep trying with me, over and over and over. We were so fucking miserable, David, and I didn’t even know why.”

David rested his cheek on the top of Patrick’s bowed head. “I don’t know, Patrick. If you were both miserable, then maybe she would have understood?” He ran one finger experimentally under the cuff of Patrick’s button-down shirt, turned up tight to the elbows. He could get two fingers under the cuff, but it was a tight fit.

Patrick huffed a dry laugh. “You don’t understand, David. We were together since we were, God, fifteen? Off and on? We were each other’s first _everything_ and we didn’t know for the longest time that it wasn’t… that _I_ wasn’t… That I couldn’t want her the way she deserves to be wanted.” 

Oh. Oh _fuck._ Because David didn’t exactly need a hand-drawn map to understand what Patrick was talking about here. He pulled his arms tighter around Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick was trembling now, his curls shivering against David’s nose as he wept. “When you know someone like that, when she’s your best friend, when you love her so much, it’s so easy to just fall back together, even if it’s not right. I didn’t know why it wasn’t right, back then. I just knew it shouldn’t be so hard all the time, and I was so damn tired of being sad. Can you understand that?”

David thought of Stevie, of watching movies and fucking in the Love Room instead of going to the Wobbly Elm or hell, even trying Bumpkin, because he loved her, because it was easy. Even if it wasn’t right. 

“Yeah.” He squeezed Patrick’s shoulders. “I really do. I’m so sorry, Patrick, I misunderstood. That was a really fucking hard thing you did, and I don’t want you to ever think you have to, I don’t know, earn my friendship by coming out to your folks. That’s something you should do only when you’re ready.”

“And what about…” He trailed off, frustrated, and David’s heart ground to a halt. Patrick pulled back to look David in the eyes, and David reckoned that heartfelt look was worth about two degrees of heat escaping from between their bodies. Patrick traced the bottom of David’s lip with one cool thumb. “You have to know I want more than friendship with you.”

And God, wasn’t that the perfect opening? David could shoot him a sultry look, and they’d lean in and kiss and kiss until the tow truck came…

...And then Patrick could, what, shove David away before anyone saw?

David turned his face into the scratchy afghan and closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Patrick looking so kissable, so wanting. God, that yarn really was the worst. “So, I meant what I said: I’m your friend, no matter what. But I can’t be more, like this. I can’t be your dirty little secret, Patrick. I’ve been that, before, and it really sucks. And Sebastien thought I already was your dirty little secret, so that was also super fun for me.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But you’ve made me feel like I’m worth more than that? So ironically, I’m not really in a place where I can be that. Um. Even for you.”

“I’ll tell them about you tonight. About me. I’m ready.” David raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Patrick blushed and dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I mean, no, I’m not, I’m scared to death, but I’m never not going to be scared, and I can’t let that stop me.” He sucked in a deep breath. "I tried to call them earlier but they didn't pick up. So I’m going to have Sheila drop us off at my parents’ house tonight, and I’m going to tell them.” 

David felt like someone had neatly scooped out the middle of his chest. “Patrick, are you sure? I meant it: I’m your friend, and I’m here for you, but I don’t want to rush you.”

“I want to, David,” he said simply. You’re worth being brave for.” 

And, God, David was only human. He cupped Patrick’s face in his hands and leaned forward slowly, making sure Patrick had plenty of time to back out if he wanted to. Then, when his lips were only a hot breath from Patrick’s, his world exploded in light as the tow truck’s high-beams hit them. 

David and Patrick squinted and flinched away from the light until their eyes had adjusted. David cracked one watering eye open again as the tow truck door slammed shut and a woman’s voice—Sheila?—lanced through the snow. “ Hey yooooou, Paddy Brewer, is that you? A little bird told me you’re back in town.” Her footsteps crunched nearer.

David laughed shakily. “So close,” he mourned, grinning crookedly, leaning his forehead against Patrick’s.

But Patrick shook his head and the fricative puff from his muttered “Aw, fuck it,” hit David an instant before Patrick’s lips crashed into his, and then they were kissing, right there in the high-beams where Sheila or anyone could see them, and their noses were cold and their lips a little chapped, but it was still the best kiss of David’s life.


End file.
